What Happened Under the Fig Tree?

In the Gospel of John (1:47-50) when Jesus was selecting the disciples, Jesus recognized Nathanael, but Nathanael asked how He knew him?  All Jesus said was that He saw him under the fig tree.  Nathanael replied in amazement, "Rabbi, You are the Son of God!  You are the King of Israel!"  

Jesus minimized it, and asked him if he believed just because He said that He saw him under the fig tree.  Jesus told him that  he would see much greater things.

But what happened under the fig tree?  

The Bible doesn't tell us, but we can surmise from the conversation some of it.  

1.  Nathanael was looking for the Messiah.  Philip came directly to him and told him that they found him, so obviously they were looking for the Savior of Israel.

2.  While under the fig tree, Nathanael prayed or thought something that no one else would have known.  It doesn't say that Philip found Nathanael under the fig tree, so it could have been his special prayer place that no one else knew about except God.  So if Jesus saw him there it could only mean one thing!  I have two fig trees in my yard here in Georgia, and believe me, a person could easily hide under its branches and feel perfectly protected.

3.  It was a turning point in Nathanael's pursuit of God.  This time under the fig tree had been different than other times.  I think Nathanael always held that time under the fig tree as one of the most important and special times in God working in His life.  Sometimes we have an urge to go pray in a different place, but I think that the Holy Spirit will lead us to different places to help us remember God's intervention and movement in our lives.  

It excites me to know that God cares about the still quiet moments in our lives when no one else sees us.  We can talk to God about deeper things without letting others know our thoughts.  Share our secrets with God.  I know it sounds silly because He already knows everything, but He wants relationship above all things.  He even gave His Son to have relationship with us.  So He wants us to talk to him about our thoughts, fears, plans, doubts, worries, and all the things we think about.  Find your fig tree, and expect God will find you.

--Johnie

Remembering Keith Green: 10-21-1953 to 7-28-1982

On July 28th, 2012, it will be 30 years since Keith Green died in a plane crash.  He influenced me greatly growing up, even though I was very young.  

My brothers listened to his music in high school and I inherited many of their Keith Green albums and eight-tracks.  I memorized them and wanted to be a musician and play the piano like Keith.  I was a radical zealot, although it would be when I was 12 that I actually became a follower of Jesus.  Until then, I was soaking in good music and being entertained.  I wanted the glory of being a powerful influence and I saw music as that avenue.  It was about 1986 when I found out that Keith had died.  I remember that I was very sad that I never got to go to one of his concerts.  But I also got to thinking about the mortality of someone that I had great respect for.  I never thought about him dying, but he did, and I could too.

Keith wanted to be radical because Jesus was radical.  He hated how Christianity had become an industry where it was something you could get if you had the money.  He wanted what he did to be a ministry, not entertainment.  He hated the idea of selling tickets to his ministry events (concerts).  I remember a story where he was giving away his albums, only to be brokenhearted to hear that people were turning right around and selling them unopened.


I respected his zeal and how he took it to action.  Maybe most Christians start off their journey as Keith did, full of ways to fulfill the debt of love owed to a God that saved us.  There were many times I would sin, and then I would think that I'm not a Christian because how could I sin and still be changed, a new creation?  I would rededicate my life at the steps in front of the podium many times a year because I felt like I was a disappointment to God.  He saved me, and then I let Him down.  Fearing that I was on the brink of losing my salvation I would study the Bible even harder, and try to pray a little bit longer.  I was a tortured soul, thinking I was the worst Christian ever.  I hate to say it, but it was all about me.
 
I was a Christian, but I didn't understand who saved me or why.  I knew it was God that saved me, but I didn't understand Him or His great love for me.  I still don't understand much, but I learned it was He who called me, He who chose me in His eclectic way, and it was He who loved me while I was still a sinner.

Through Keith I heard a song that would influence me so much, I even named one of my sons Josiah.  I learned God wants us, not just a donation.  I learned that Christians are on a journey, and even Keith struggled with legalism and acceptance.  I never met him, but I see him as an early spiritual mentor and teacher.

I want everyone to remember that out of all of Keith's songs, it was the praise songs in "Songs for the Shepherd" that he loved the most.  He was growing closer to the Lord, Abba Father when he was taken.  Now many Christians do not even know who Keith was or the huge impact his legacy is still having today, but I think Keith would want it that way.  It's not about Keith, but about Jesus and the Father and the family of adoptees like Keith and me.  When I get to heaven I know we will finally meet, but I am confident that we will both be consumed with praising the One who saved us.  It will be family.



-Johnie

17 Years is Not That Long - Happy Anniversary

To My Dear Wife,


It has been 17 years since that day in June when two giddy kids pledged their lives together before a full room of friends and family in Walters, Oklahoma.  Harry performed the ceremony.  Anthony sang "I Will Be Here".  Friends came from far away to see our special moment.  The night before was filled with tornadoes and some couldn't make it that morning because of floods.  Linda wrote stuff all over our windshield with red, waterproof lipstick because nobody brought shoe polish.   Then when it rained, it smeared and we had to stop at a gas station and clean it for 30 minutes.  I remember it like it was yesterday.  And I don't regret it ever.  


You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.  God truly brought us together, and for good reason.  We were made for each other.  Back at the beginning we celebrated all the ways we were alike.  We would finish each others sentences or say the same thing at the exact same time.  Then we would smile from ear to ear at each other because we were so alike!  But over the years we have learned, and are still learning, to celebrate our differences.  


I love you, Honey, and I am proud and happy to be married to you.


Love Always,


Your Husband,


Johnie

Unto the Least of These

I heard someone this week railing that most of America's problems were the result of illegal immigrants.  He said that when Alabama passed their law targeting illegal immigration, that their unemployment rate went down and most of the illegals left their state.  

He said that illegal immigrants don't respect the laws of the land and they never will.  They don't pay income taxes.  They bring drugs to the U.S. from Mexico.  They bring their whole family and send back for more.  

He said they use our schools, our social services, and they don't even bother learning the language.

I wonder if he thinks he is better than illegal immigrants:  

I never swam the Rio Grande to get into Mexico, so that makes me better.

I've never been an illegal immigrant, so that makes me better.

I've never smuggled drugs, so that makes me better.

I've always been an American, so that makes me better.

No.  It may not be right, but that doesn't make you better.  God does not favor Americans over Mexicans!  Most of those who come here illegally do so because their country has become a hopeless land of drug gangs on one side and low-wage corporations on the other.  Many of those corporations are based in America.  

And before you say anything else, look at the labels on all of your clothes, nick-knacks, and appliances, and see where they were made.  Then do a little research on the labor standards for those countries.  Some of them "employ" children as young as six.  They make about a dollar a day (or less), and work over eight hours a day.  And where does the money come from?  They are exploited by big foreign money in their own countries, so they leave their homelands looking for a better start.

Please stop talking trash against illegal immigrants, and start acting against exploitation, in the third world and here at home.  Jesus said, "Whatever you do unto the least of these, you do unto me."  I am not in favor of illegal immigration, but I believe that a person would have to be at a pretty desperate place in their life to pack up and cross out of the country of their birth.  If Americans didn't use cheap illegal labor here in the U.S., then there would be no draw.  But while they are here, we should look at them like the mission field which has come to us.  How many Christians will spend hundreds or even thousands of dollars each years, just to spend a week in a foreign land to help those less fortunate?  And how many wish they had the money to go on a foreign mission trip?  There is nothing wrong with mission trips, and they do cost money.  But don't you see the irony?  Those same people that would be visited on a mission trip are jumping our borders in desperation, because they just couldn't take the poverty any more. 

Christian, it boils down to this:  Do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God.

American, be careful how you treat the foreigner who walk between your shores.  Someday it may be you who is wishing for understanding at your desperate attempt to escape hardship and struggle. 

--Johnie

Memories from S.H. Rider A-Cappella Choir

First for God.  Second for the Composer.  Third for yourself.  Then for anyone else who wants to hear.  These were our instructions for singing in the S.H. Rider A-Cappella Choir directed by Donald Cowan.  It may have been a high school choir, but Mr. C, as we called him, pushed us well beyond what we thought we could do.  Singing the words and pitches were only a small part of being in A-CAP.  For over 30 years our teacher taught how to aspire to excellence and how in giving one becomes truly satisfied.  

It didn't matter if a concert had five or five-hundred in the audience, we were taught that they were merely observers, who gleaned and benefited from an experience that we had on the risers.  We held hands for all concerts, not only as tradition, but because we benefited from knowing that we were one in mind, in heart, and in voice.  Mr. Cowan didn't just lead a choir - he led an army of young people who were looking for purpose.  

No one stood out at a concert.  Girls wore black dresses with black dress shoes.  Boys wore black slacks, white shirts, and black ties.  But I loved putting on my black robe and golden stole most of all, in anticipation of filing out onto the risers.  As we passed from the dim halls and curtains, identities fell into distant oblivion, and we became "The Choir".  Voices of the past, some of which were silent for years, were heard in perfect pitch and timber.  Countless hours of training were shared with one voice from youth who truly did not know what a special thing they had, even though it meant the world to us even then.  

Mr. C set up many concerts, but one in particular will never be forgotten by the choir of '93.  The place did not look very exciting and even seemed a little strange.  Not many were in attendance at the School for the Mentally Retarded in Austin, TX, as we stood in our places looking into the hap-hazard crowd.  As we sang a familiar song, one particular young man from the school stood behind Mr. Cowan just to where he couldn't be seen.  As Mr. Cowan's arms and hands rolled in direction, and his body swayed, he spotted the shadow of this aspiring director and they made eye contact.  Mr. C, knowing that this was a once in a life-time moment for this special man, bowed to him, stepping away to let him finish directing us.  I don't know how we sang with all the tears that rolled down our cheeks, but we sang like we never sang before.  And the life and joy that beamed from the face of our "new director" will forever be etched in my mind.  He waved his arms with passion and staccato.  It was one of those heaven moments, where you know that something big is happening, even though you're not quite sure how.

I thank my God for what I learned in that choir.  I thank Mr. Cowan, for the positive influence he had on me when I needed it the most.  Thirdly, I thank the composers who had the gift of putting passion and energy into the songs we sang.  And last of all, I thank the people that shared with us by listening.  

To God be glory.  

--Johnie